stuff about cats, punk rock and general musings

Menu

Everyone has secrets. We guard them in earnest because we fear that if they become public, we will be judged or worse yet , find out they weren’t all the trouble of guarding in the first place.

At age 17 I decided to get a job as a hostess in a bikini bar. I thought it was a glamorous job and was most defiantly a step up from my current cashier position at the local Western Auto. I started at the door and charged the desperate men $10 to come in and watch bikini clad women and drink sodas and near beer. I couldn’t believe the men would tip me for doing nothing more than smile and say, “Thank you. Hope to see you again soon, Baby.”

When I turned 18 the manager asked me if I wanted to give dancing on the stage a try. The idea of men giving me money for watching me dance and be ‘pretty’ had an allure of intrigue that was beyond an 18-year-old girls understanding. So began a long career of in and out of strip clubs and a love hate relationship with men and myself.

There were bad times when I left owing money to the club and there were great times when I left with thousands in my garter and a trip to Jamaica. Years went by when I had ‘legit’ jobs, but it was always hard for me to play nice and try to understand my fellow workers who were all so fucking PC. I was use to an environment where saying “fuck you” could earn you an extra $100 if said in the right tone and right heels.

I’ve worked in over a dozen clubs, some for a week, and some for a year. There was a club in Orlando that I don’t ever remember being hired at, but I worked there every other weekend and never paid the house. I loved that club! It was two stories and upstairs was nude with champagne and high tippers. I believe it cost an additional $50 to get up there. Downstairs was topless only, but was good for the frat boys looking for cheap thrills. I obviously chose to work upstairs. There were always some celebrities or notorious wanna be’s up there. One night the male cast of Rosanne came in for a night out with the boys. I believe I gave Johnny Galecki (now on ‘The Big Bang Theory’) his first lap dance. He was under age and wasted, but a gentleman none the less. John Goodman was another story. He kept throwing money on the table and the girls were all over it and him. I felt bad for him in a way. It seemed to me that he had to pay for everyone to like him or maybe he was being nice, but I didn’t see that. He left being partly carried down the back stairs.

Glenn Quinn was another one of the cast who was in attendance. Not that famous, but the story for me was interesting because he was dating my then boyfriend Micky Dolenz (more on him later) daughter Ami. So put yourself in my position, I am dancing for my boyfriend’s daughter’s boyfriend…NUDE! To be honest he was sleazy and I told Mick about it. I assume that is part of the reason they aren’t together.

My life has many such coincidences like this. I can’t wait to tell more as this blog progresses and I feel bold enough to share more strip club stories (oh men, why do you tell us such secrets?!) and maybe some more gossip.

A true punk cannot be pigeon held by today’s narcissistic society’s definition. A punk has been used to define: hoodlums, a worthless person, a substance that merely smolders when ignited, someone of low morals, a musician in a genre of awesome kick-ass music, and a general lumping of any kind of teen rebel.

I have at one time or another fit into all the above categories.

A cat has been used in slang for describing; a feminine woman, a comrade or good friend, a cool laid back person, and the sexiest and often most misunderstood animal on the planet.

I have reluctantly at times fallen into all of these categories as well.

I will name names (everyone but my own) and tell stories of my stay in the mental institute, my free bass lesson with a punk icon, my alcoholic catholic upbringing, my own experience with rape, kayaking and camping across America alone, operating on a bobcat, flying half way across the world for love, sex, death and other tales of sorted morals, lack of judgment and wonderful delights.

Stay tuned and I promise you will enjoy the ride and learn what a true punk cat is all about…